


Variations On A Theme

by CombatBootsandDreams



Series: Glow in the dark [14]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, End Avatar Gerard Keay, Gerard Keay Lives, It works?, Mentioned Elias Bouchard, Mentioned Martin Blackwood, Mentioned Not-Them Sasha James, Mentioned Sasha James, Monster Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Not Canon Compliant, Pre Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sort Of, Tim tries to reach out to Jon, mentioned temporary character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27863750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CombatBootsandDreams/pseuds/CombatBootsandDreams
Summary: The disjointed thoughts and ideas of one Jonathan Sims, The Archivist. On his first day back in the archives after his death and subsequent resurrection.
Series: Glow in the dark [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1924183
Comments: 6
Kudos: 70





	Variations On A Theme

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place the following week after Jon dies, and meets Gerry. Thank you for reading, and maybe leave a comment?

Everything was just slightly off from what he remembered. Like everything had been moved just a little to the left. It was all still there, just slightly different. Like a car with dark grey paint when you were sure it was light grey the day before. Everything was just off enough to remind him it was wrong. To remind him that something was different.

Jonathan Sims had died on a Thursday, no one had missed him on Friday while he was in a coma. Jonathan Sims had died, and no one had noticed. No one except Gerard Keay, who held his hand as the darkness overwhelmed him, as his blood seeped out of his body and he couldn’t scream. Couldn’t breathe, and it felt like his chest was on fire and—.

He wasn’t sure why he needed to come in. He had plenty of time off, but Elias had threatened _his assistants,_ and it was hell or high water before he let them get hurt for something he could have stopped. He wasn’t sure why Elias forced him to come back into the archives so soon, but he had a theory. There was a sickening feeling in his chest that didn’t come from the scaring knife wound. There was an endless yanking, and pulling, and teasing at his heart. At his chest, at his _soul._ He _needed_ to be back in the archives no matter what his panicked, terrified, brain had to say about it.

\--------

He didn’t know the displacement effect also worked on the things outside his head.

He didn’t know until it took him 30 seconds to place Tim Stoker. It took him 30 seconds of staring to place the scowling, angry man staring at him from the minute he stepped into the archives. It took ~~The Archive~~ , ~~The Archivist~~ , _Jon._ 30 whole seconds to recognize the man he had once called one of his best friends.

For Martin it took _60_.

It took him 90 seconds for Beholding to tell him who the strange women in the photos on the board were.

Took him 15 minutes to figure out the differences between Sasha and the Not-Them. He almost had to ask Tim whether it was Sasha or her replacement who liked those awful peppermint flavored drinks she’d have while listening to riot girl music in the morning.

It only took 10 seconds to realize Tim _wouldn’t know_.

Beholding informed him that that had been the real Sasha but after that, it hadn’t felt like the accomplishment it would have before.

It wasn’t like he didn’t remember them. His assistants, that is. He had rambled to Gerry about all of them in-between shopping trips and franticly writing down every legal question the two of them could come up with. It was just, his memory was all jumbled up. If someone had asked him what Melanie King looked like yesterday he would have been able to tell them, but the minute he laid eyes on her it’s like everything separated. He _knew_ who she was, lowercase k, but he also didn’t _know_ who she was. It took a minute, like his brain was running on glitchy software, like the button that would tell his brain where, and how, and who everything and everyone was had also been moved just a little bit to the left.

He pulled up pictures of Georgie and The Admiral. Pulled up pictures of his old bandmates. He pulled up pictures of old friends he hadn’t seen in five years, and pictures of his Grandmother, and it always took moments to long to recall them but when he did he got a backwash of old memories and nightmares and job updates, new details about their lives, and old death notifications. An overwhelming wave of information he knew but didn’t _know._ Information he _Knew_ but didn’t know.

Jon thinks this shouldn’t hurt so damn much, and The Archivist hungers for new information.

Martin comes in with tea and Jon remembers when those hands were covered in blood. _His blood_ , shaky and frantic; pulling worms from Jon’s hands, and legs, and arms. It’s not like it mattered in the end. Not really, the worms still got him in the tunnels.

Jon texts Gerry halfway through the day. He’s drinking Martin’s tea cold now because it took him reading two statements in a row for his hands to stop shaking. He hates the way his frantic nerves quieted after the first statement. Hates how relaxed he feels after the second one. Like he wants to fall asleep and jump out of his skin all at the same time.

He texts Gerry to tell him something stupid. A prompt, they had asked each other random questions all weekend whenever the pressure got too much and they just wanted to hear something that wasn’t of major consequence. Tell me facts about your favorite animal, or band, or the first time you drank. Tell me the plot of your favorite book, or if you like Halloween. What’s your least favorite chair in this room and why?

Gerry texts back immediately and asks if Jon wanted him to call. He doesn’t cry, he doesn’t cry because that would be a ridiculous thing to do because he asked a friend to give him a distraction and they not only responded right away but asked if he wanted them to call because they knew he wanted them to call.

(If Gerry notices his voice is all choked up when he says hello, then he doesn’t mention it.)

Gerry talks about the first time he dyed his hair. Talks about how much of a mess it was. How he got the dye all over the bathroom floor, how the inky substance stained the back of his neck and how it was splotchy in the back because he couldn’t see the back of his head and for some reason hadn’t thought to use the mirror. He talks and talks and talks and Jon smiles through burning watery eyes and hiccupping gasps that Gerry knows to ignore. He stretches his arm out once or twice because he forgets Gerry isn’t actually there to hold his hand.

He and Gerry hold hands a lot, hold hands like they hadn’t just met on Thursday.

After talking to Gerry Jon feels more…stable. It still feels like he’s walking through a world that isn’t his but he’s walking through it with someone else.

He has yet to see Elias. Thinks maybe the man is giving him a breather. Thinks that maybe in a different universe the first thing he would have done is march up to his office in a fit of fury and just ask what had happened. Ask like he doesn’t Know what happened.

But he Knows what happened, capital K this time. Knows what happened like he knows gravity. He just can’t explain it, can’t put into words what he Knows to be true, and not even Beholding can give him the words to describe the unexplainable.

He _died_ , and everything stayed the same.

He _died_ , and everything changed, (just a little bit)

Tim walks into his office and he recalls him immediately. _Like he should have the first time_. Tim walks into his office had sits in the chair like everything was okay again. Like Tim gave a damn about him again because Tim puts his hands on the desk and slides the file over. It had been the statement Jon had asked Tim to work on and Jon has to make sure Tim hasn’t been replaced too because he just slides it over. No snarky remarks or slamming the report on the desk with a loud bang that he knows Jon hates, just a small smile. Like when Tim was trying to befriend Jon in research. Sasha, _the real Sasha_ had said it was like trying to socialize a feral kitten. Jon had bristled at that remark at the time which she claimed proved her point.

Tim looked like he was trying to say something. Tim looked sad, and angry, and sorry, and Jon didn’t know why. He stands up with a start and practically runs out of the room. Rubbing tears out of his eyes had Jon has no clue what had just happened. Wants to leave his office and ask but knows the last time Tim looked like that it was 30 minutes after he had yelled at Sasha. it had been the anniversary of Danny’s death and Tim had just snapped, railed at her until she had tears in her eyes, and fled the room. He had apologized to her for weeks but in the first apology, he had looked just like that. Just as sad and sorry but maybe less angry, but Jon knows if Tim yells at him today, he will actually start crying and he doesn’t want to give anyone anymore kindling to burn him with later.

It’s been a long day. It’s only _noon_.

He thinks about what he’s going to cook for dinner because he has someone who partially relies on him now and Gerry can’t cook to save his life. He watches the minutes tick by and spends an hour zoned out and staring at the trapdoor.

He moves everything on his desk exactly three centimeters to the right. He thinks it’s to prove a point but that point gets lost in translation. So, he moves everything up another three centimeters and it actually makes him feel a little better.

He changed something. If he were to walk out of his office and never come back he would have changed something. He changes the picture in the picture frame he’s never had the guts to put on his desk to a picture of The Admiral.

Tim walks in without knocking and sits back down in the chair red-eyed and sad but not angry.

“Hey boss, your desk looks different. I want to, to— I want to—I—I didn’t know you had a cat.” He interrupts himself, all nervousness he’s never seen in Tim.

“I don’t, this is my child, The Admiral. He’s currently with his mother, Georgie, who’s my ex, but sometimes she still lets me see him.”

“Well then. If he’s your child. Can you tell me about him?”

“Oh—um, of course!”

And Tim still sits slightly to the left. 

And a spider spins its web.

**Author's Note:**

> Tim is NOT being controlled by The Web. No one is being controlled by The Web.   
> This is a thing I wrote too late at night and almost posted three times before right now. This story? It's a thing, I don't really know what it is besides a ton of disjointed thoughts, ideas, and concepts that I smashed together into one terror of a writing project but hey, sometimes that's what you have to do. Have a nice day.


End file.
